Memory

1
Before I fell into sleep
you sworn to me that lines would be remembered in the morning
Yet I woke up in your awe of blank
as if you were soaked in the Heraclitus' river
I should have trusted my hands more
to carve the words onto the river bank
though sometimes they would still be swept away
by the river of time

2
I tried to have your revive
my longing for desire
but you care no more and say
Each spring is not another spring
Each winter is more like a winter

3.
You occasionally wake up
a few burning gazes
a few young figures
and tell me they would have been my blossoms
that had so much potential
to be blooming forever in your garden
I told you they are
even their petals were dried in the springs long ago